Free When the Bough Breaks by Irene N.Watts

into my room and prop him up on the bed, with pillows all round him and a chair in front so he can't roll off
    I do have a blouse I have never worn. Mother finished making it a couple of weeks before Eddie arrived; she made it of fine cream-colored linen, cut down from one of her old Sunday dresses. It will be pretty and cool to wear. I take the blouse off the hanger and stroke thesmooth green-satin ribbon that's threaded round the collar and cuffs. There's a matching hair ribbon, still lying neatly rolled up at the back of my dresser. Mother had noticed that Claxton's was advertising an early-spring sale, and had given me a nickel to go and choose some ribbon.
    The blouse fits even better than before. I fasten the five little pearl buttons, remembering how I'd felt kind of bad at first, when Mother said, “I know just the thing for the final touch,” and cut the buttons off one of her best dresses. Mother was forever making do, cutting one thing up to make another.
    She told me not to argue: “Don't fuss, Millie. Look at me, I'm as big as a house. I won't be wearing that dress for months. I want you to have something really nice to wear to the school picnic. The buttons will make the blouse very elegant.”
    When she had finished sewing them on, I told her I thought it looked every bit as good as the blouses in Eaton's catalog. “I can't wait to wear it. Thank you very much, Mother, I love it!”
    The picnic is always held the first week in July, and, of course, I did not go this year, so soon after Mother's death. The blouse was put away, but I shall wear it to Miss Tracy's tea. I am excited and sad, both, about wearing the last thing Mother made for me. But I can hear her saying: “It's a perfect occasion to show it off, Millie.”
    I turn this way and that, peering at my reflection in the narrow mirror inside the door of my wardrobe. I must think a hundred times a day
How I wish you were still here, Mother….
    I experiment with different ways of tying the hair ribbon. “What do you think, Eddie? Shall I wear my hair in braids, loose, or piled on top of my head?” I pick up my little brother, and we both look in the mirror. He stares at our reflections solemnly and then turns his head away, almost as if he's heard someone come into the room.
I'll decide last minute, on Sunday.
    Next day, I wake up early. It will be another busy morning. The crickets are chirping fast and loud – a sure sign the day will be scorching. I make a batch of corn bread and, after breakfast, take Eddie to market to sell my eggs, buy some flour and cheese, then get back home to the ironing. No wonder Sadie hates it. At last I'm done and we have clean clothes for another week, though of course I have to wash for Eddie more often. Father says he'll keep an eye on him for me after work, so that I can take my acceptance note over to Miss Tracy. Hamish has been allowed to help Robbie make a fort in his yard. Father told me he's been very helpful in the forge lately.
    I don't want to ring the bell when I get to Mrs. Wilmot's house. Instead, I push my envelope under thedoor. Her little dog barks as fiercely as if I've come to steal the silver. As I'm going back down the path, Mrs. Wilmot opens the door and grumbles to herself. I turn, intending to apologize for disturbing her.
    She pays no attention and says, “Young girls should not be allowed out at all hours. There's not enough discipline these days.” Before I have a chance to say anything, she shuts the door.
    It's not quite eight o'clock. Poor Miss Tracy.
How can she stand living there?
I enjoy strolling by myself along the quiet streets, not pushing a buggy for once, and decide to take the longer way home on this lovely evening.
    As I near the house, the first thing I hear is Eddie wailing inconsolably. I rush indoors to find Father pacing back and forth in the kitchen, trying to shush the baby.
    “I'm so sorry, Father. Has he been crying for long?” I take Eddie and rub his